Here but Gone

Mother greets me with the words, "Mama, mama, mama."  She reaches out her hand and asks for a kiss.  I hug her and kiss her cheek.  She eventually remembers who I am.  I am becoming used to her calling me mama when she is stressed.  At those times she is such a little girl, and at times in her mind I have become her mother. I brush her teeth, I  bring her cups of tea, I tuck her in.

This is one of the most difficult things for me.  The role reversal.  It feels so strange to have the woman who was my caretaker and comforter now need so much from me.  In that sense, I think my Mother is gone.  The woman lying in the bed looks like my mother, but she is no longer "Mother."  She can't ask how I am.  She can't ask how the children are.  She can't ask what books I am reading.  She can't interact and relate.  I have to keep the memories of her fresh because although her body is still here, her mind and her personality are gone.  My sister who lives several hours away said she wanted to come see Mother because she misses her.  I told her that even when she comes, she will still miss Mother because she is no longer here.